


Anything You Ask

by thepinupchemist



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Candy Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kid Fic, M/M, Omega Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-05 19:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21213983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinupchemist/pseuds/thepinupchemist
Summary: A skinny blond kid appears in Bucky's candy store, and when her frantic father comes looking for her, Bucky doesn't realize he just met his mate. Over the course of several months, he falls in love with Steve Rogers and his daughter. Fortunately, they love him right back.





	Anything You Ask

**Author's Note:**

  * For [britbrit99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/britbrit99/gifts).

> Hey y'all! There are some extremely minor mentions of sexual assault, but I figured I'd warn for them anyway.

**Soundtrack: If You Love Me, Really Love Me – Vera Lynn**

_ **Anything You Ask** _

The day that Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers was kind of the worst, actually.

Bucky had good PTSD days and bad PTSD days, and at three in the morning, he woke up from his brain’s vivid replay of the car crash that took his arm: the screeching of tires, the BANG of the airbag and the smell of it, the metal crunching in and the lights going out. Sometimes he thought he had a vague impression of being cut out of the wreckage by a bunch of beta firemen and paramedics, but the first thing he truly remembered after it all went down was waking up in a hospital with his entire fucking family surrounding his bed.

The day he met Steve, he woke up to a bad PTSD day.

Being at his shop actually helped, sometimes. He opened early to catch the morning coffee people. Only a few folks stopped inside for coffee; he specialized in candy and ice cream and handmade sodas. Surrounding himself with sweet smells echoed what it would be like to be surrounded by an omega.

Bucky sometimes didn’t like to be touched, so dating was out. After a while, he loved it, but not a lot of omegas had the patience to get there with him. Owning a soda-shop-slash-ice-cream-parlor-slash-candy-store was the next best thing, scent-wise.

The motions of making confections and coffee, a morning routine he normally enjoyed, frayed his nerves. He had to swallow back the riptide of anxiety, slinking into the back to try and work his way through the litany of mindfulness techniques his therapist gave him to keep him in the moment. Some days they worked just fine, and he was grateful for that.

That day, they didn’t work, and he resorted to his Xanax before braving the store again.

People and scents came and went, and by the time the late afternoon lull swung around, Bucky wanted to knife himself in the eye. Instead, he treated himself to an ice cream cone in the back room and sulked.

When he came back, the light, sunny scent of a child tickled his nose. A skinny blond girl, somewhere around ten or eleven, sat at one of his tables in the center of the shop, swinging her legs. She wore a uniform for the private school up the road. The rest of the kids that hit his place after school had already come and gone.

“You smell scared,” she announced.

Bucky frowned. He didn’t want to lie to a kid, so he said, “Sometimes I get anxiety attacks. I’m okay, though. Or I will be. Can I get you anything?”

“I don’t have any money,” she replied. “I just don’t wanna go home.”

Bucky’s frown deepened.

He didn’t like the sound of that.

Thing was – his family was huge, because his parents fostered kids all throughout his life. Some of them came from terrible, dark places. Natasha never talked about what happened before she got placed with them. Clint sometimes did, but he skirted around the shittiest stuff. Bucky knew all about the kinds of kids that didn’t want to go home.

“You got allergies, kid?” he asked.

“Penicillin,” the kid answered, and proceeded to count on her fingers. “Pine nuts, gluten, shellfish, soy, chamomile, and pollen. And my name is Sarah, not ‘kid.’”

All right, he could work with that.

Bucky plated a couple of truffles and swung around the counter.

She gave his prosthesis a cursory up and down, but didn’t say anything about it. A lot of kids asked him about his missing arm. He didn’t mind; mostly, he minded the parents getting all weird about their kids wanting to know about a Stark-made prosthesis.

“I’m Bucky,” he told her, and set the chocolates on the table and sat down across from her.

“I just said I don’t have money,” said Sarah, and shoved the plate at him.

Bucky pushed it back. “Free sample,” he told her. “How come you don’t wanna go home?”

Sarah eyed the truffles. They were white chocolate – colored yellow, and decorated to look like dogs. With extreme distrust in her eye, she scraped the edge of one dog truffle with her teeth. Then, her eyes lit up. She smiled a gummy smile and popped the truffle in her mouth. With her mouth full, Sarah explained, “I’m gonna get in trouble.”

“What for?”

“I got a referral,” Sarah replied. “They called Daddy at work and he’s gonna be _sad_ and it’s gonna suck. I had to go to detention anyways. Have you ever been to detention? It’s bullshit!”

Bucky raised his brows. “Yeah, I’ve been,” he responded mildly. “It’s definitely bullshit.”

Sarah looked pleased that he didn’t scold her for swearing. She stuck the second chocolate in her mouth in time to explain, “So, like, Kaden R is super mean. He’s a bully and I don’t like bullies. He was making fun of Jack because he picked out pink braces even though he’s a boy. So I punched him.”

“Ah,” Bucky said, trying his best for something non-judgmental. “I mean, I can see both sides. I totally would have punched that guy too, but you can’t punch people at school. So I guess it makes sense that your dad might be upset. Does he get upset a lot?”

“Not all the time,” Sarah shrugged. “He mostly gets mad at other people. He thinks other drivers are dumbasses and maniacs, and one time, he punched a guy at a rally we went to and we got internet famous.”

Bucky’s brows went ever-higher. “A rally?”

“Yeah, it was to protest ICE,” she answered. “Nazis showed up and Daddy punched one. He said sometimes it’s okay to punch bullies. The Daily Bugle put our picture all over the internet. Daddy printed it out and now it’s on our wall.”

Sarah’s dad sounded like the kind of guy Bucky wanted to meet.

“And he sent you to a private school?” Bucky ventured.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “It’s a science school, duh. I’m really good at science so I got a scholarship. Everyone says it’s because of Uncle Tony, but they’re assholes.”

“Uncle Tony?”

“Yeah, he made your arm.” Sarah pointed. “He went to high school with Daddy.”

Before Bucky could open his mouth, the bell above the door jingled, and the heady scent of terrified omega slammed into him with the force of a typhoon. He sat up straighter, alpha brain switching to alert, as the most beautiful man he’d ever laid eyes on barreled full-tilt into his shop. While this beautiful man’s scent was all omega, his body looked closer to alpha. His biceps threatened to burst the seams of his button-down, and his pecs – well. They were certainly something.

“Sarah!” he exclaimed. He heaved her up into a hug.

“Da-_ddy_,” Sarah complained.

“I was so worried. I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he said. He set her down, but only after Sarah smacked his shoulder. “Why’d you leave detention?”

“I didn’t wanna get in trouble,” Sarah replied.

“You’re not in trouble,” her dad assured her, fussing with one of her blond braids. Up close, he was much younger than Bucky expected – somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties, young enough that he would have been in high school when he had Sarah.

He didn’t smell mated.

Bucky tried not to get his hopes up about that.

“I’m not in trouble?” Sarah asked.

“Hm, well, you’re in a little bit of trouble, pumpkin,” said her dad. “I would’ve punched that guy too, but you can’t punch people at school.”

“That’s exactly what Bucky said,” Sarah grumbled.

Only then did Sarah’s dad register Bucky’s presence. Bucky gave a small wave, crushed beneath a sudden wave of oh-shit-he’s-looking-at-me shyness. Steve’s eyes flicked to the plate, where only a stray bit of chocolate remained.

“That didn’t have gluten in it, did it?”

“Da-_ddy_,” Sarah said, again. “_First_ of all, I’m not stupid. _Second_, Bucky asked if I was allergic to stuff before he gave it to me. You can’t be mean to him. He’s my friend.”

That seemed to give Sarah’s dad pause. Some of the tension leaked out of his shoulders. “You’re Bucky?”

Bucky nodded.

“I’m Steve,” Beautiful Omega Dad said. “How much do I owe you?”

Bucky waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

“He said it’s free samples,” Sarah pitched in.

Steve looked physically pained. He sighed and smeared a hand over his face. “Thanks for looking out for her,” he said. “Let’s go, kiddo. The crock pot should be done by now.”

“No trouble at all,” Bucky told him, and he meant that. “You got a really awesome kid there, Steve. I’ll see you around, Sarah.”

He held out his metal fist, and Sarah grinned. She bumped it, then slid her hand in Steve’s. Steve thanked him a second time, Bucky reassured him that everything was a-okay, and then they left, the bell jingling as they exited the shop and disappeared down the block.

As soon as he was sure they weren’t going to burst back in, Bucky had a quiet panic attack behind the counter. Even though the scent of scared omega had eased into relief by the time that Steve left, the acrid stench of fear still singed his nose hairs. His alpha instinct wanted nothing more than to PROTECT, and no matter how much he told his brain to scale it the fuck back, he couldn’t get his emotion on lock.

Blessedly, he didn’t get too many people in after that. After he closed up, Bucky went home and collapsed on his couch. He fell asleep at seven thirty in the evening, and didn’t wake up until his alarm went off in the pocket of his jeans the next morning.

**

That day drifted behind him as another bad day. One of the stranger bad days he’d had.

Then, twelve days later, two familiar scents drifted into the shop. Sunny, clean – kid. Sweet, cinnamony, honey – omega.

Clint and Kate were helping Bucky with serving the Saturday crowd, and they both turned their attention to him when Bucky’s head shot up.

When Sarah and Steve strolled in, Bucky’s lips parted in surprise. Steve’s pencil pusher outfit of the previous week and Sarah’s school uniform were nowhere to be found. Of all things, they were wearing leather jackets, punked out with studs and patches and pins. Both of them. Father-daughter punk jackets.

Sarah skipped up to the counter and leaned forward with a, “Hi, Bucky!”

She had an enamel unicorn on the collar of her pint-sized punk jacket.

“Hey, Sarah,” he greeted. “I like your jacket.”

“I know, right?” Sarah said, and whirled around. On the back, looping, sparkly pink letters sandwiched a huge, hand-painted patch of intricately detailed laboratory equipment. The letters read SCIENCE IS REAL. “Daddy painted the back for me. He’s a really good artist.”

“He sure is,” Bucky remarked.

Steve went pink in the face and laughed, clutching at the back of his neck. “Thanks,” he said softly. “Um, do you have any vegan flavors of ice cream? I can’t do dairy.”

“I can, though,” Sarah said, smug.

“Yeah, we got some sorbets, and we rotate a couple other flavors,” answered Bucky. “Right now I’ve got cookie dough and peach for my dairy-free.”

Steve and Sarah ordered ice cream and ate it near the front window. Bucky wanted desperately to go and talk to them, but the Saturday rush pinned him behind the counter. They waved at him before they left, and Bucky waved back, something odd fluttering in his chest as he watched their punk-jacketed backs retreating. Steve’s read FEMINIST OMEGIST RESIST in beautifully executed red and yellow letters.

When the day came to a close, Bucky hoped his foster brother and his employee would forget what they witnessed, but Kate heaved her body up on the counter and said, “Sooo, who was that?”

“Same question,” Clint said.

“No one.” Bucky batted Clint’s hand away when he reached out, presumably to yank him into a headlock, or maybe a hug. Both were equally as possible as the other.

“You smell like you have a crush,” prodded Kate.

“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky said. “Sarah hid out here for a while and I entertained her while Steve was at work.”

That wasn’t really a lie.

Also, it became Bucky’s truth.

**

Sarah started appearing after the school cut her loose from detention, which she always seemed to be in for one reason or another.

“What happened now?” Bucky dared to ask, one afternoon.

“We’re reading a stupid book by some dead white guy,” Sarah said. Despite the attitude, she had her homework out on her table. “I told my teacher that and I got detention.”

“What did your dad say about it?”

“He said I’m right,” Sarah replied.

Bucky couldn’t argue with that.

(Bucky’s personal favorite story was the time Sarah got into a debate with her health teacher and stormed off.

“When they found her, they asked her where she went, and apparently,” Steve explained, exasperated, “she told them she went on a woman’s journey to Nunya.”

Bucky raised a brow. “What, exactly, is ‘Nunya’?”

“Nunya business,” Steve said on the end of a sigh.

Bucky burst into full belly-laughter.

“Yeah, the administrators didn’t think it’s as funny as you do.”)

Somehow, little skinny Sarah Rogers became Bucky’s taste tester for new candies and ice cream flavors. She rated Bucky on a scale of one to ten, told him that his matcha truffles tasted like fancy dirt, and he needed to ease up on the peppermint in his seasonal fudge squares. He kept the matcha truffles, as they were hipster magnets, but agreed that a little peppermint went a long way. The fudge was a resounding success.

Steve always came around six o’clock to collect her. On weekdays, he wore his office gear, all pressed khakis and button-downs that did that thing on his chest where the buttons pulled too tight. Bucky always tried not to stare, and he was pretty certain he failed at least fifty percent of the time. Steve smelled like heaven and had curves like nothing else.

Bucky was only human.

If Steve noticed Bucky staring, he didn’t say anything. He’d always say that he and Sarah had to go, but then they stuck around and talked until Bucky had to close up. Steve worked for some soul-sucking car insurance company, but had an Etsy store where he sold his patches and paintings. He and Sarah often collaborated on art projects.

Once, Bucky explained to Sarah that he lost his arm in a collision with a drunk driver.

“I get bad dreams sometimes and have hard days,” he told her. That day was one of his bad PTSD days.

“That happens to Daddy too,” she responded. “He doesn’t talk about it a lot, ‘cause he doesn’t wanna hurt my feelings.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when Daddy was a teenager, a bad alpha hurt him, and that alpha helped make me,” Sarah said. Her Lisa Frank pencil stopped scratching against her math worksheet.

“He told you that?”

“Kinda. He had a bad day and got really sad and scared and I had to call my grandma. Her name’s Sarah, just like me. She told me the stuff about the bad alpha and Daddy got super mad at her. He said it was his story to tell and I’m too young and blah, blah, blah, but I’m not dumb.”

Then, she started crying.

Bucky panicked and made her a hot chocolate, and when he set it down next to her, Sarah threw herself at him. He hugged her, and she didn’t let go for a long, long time.

By the time that Steve came to get her, Sarah had pulled it together and finished her math homework. Before they left the shop, she wrapped her arms around Bucky a second time. Bucky held her back.

Steve raised his brows, but then he smiled. “Time to go, pumpkin,” he said.

“You’re the best, Bucky,” Sarah told him, as she went.

Bucky didn’t know what he was feeling, but it was warm and all-encompassing and he wanted to live in it forever.

**

On a snowy weekday, Sarah unwound her glittery scarf (a gift from her grandma, she said) and threw her coat on her usual seat. Bucky took some huckleberry fudge out to her for taste-testing purposes, and she eyeballed it.

“It’s purple,” she said.

“It’s huckleberry,” Bucky replied. “If you don’t want it, I’ll eat it.” He extended his hand toward the plate, but Sarah smacked the back of it.

“No!” she exclaimed. “I want it. Go away. It’s mine.”

“All right, all right.”

Then, her phone rang. As many of Sarah’s belongings were, her phone case was unicorn-themed. She slid to answer with a petulant, “_What_,” and then her face fell.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked.

“It’s Daddy,” she said. “He wants to talk to you.”

Bucky took the unicorn phone. “Steve, what’s up?”

“I have to stay late at work,” Steve answered. “My mom’s on her shift at the hospital, so she can’t watch her – um, I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can’t really afford a babysitter. Could you, uh, maybe, watch her tonight? I’ll be out of here by ten, I think.”

“Steve, that’s way past closing. I can’t stay here that long.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment. “I know,” he said. “You can...if you’re comfortable with it, she can go home with you, and I’ll pick her up as soon as I’m done. I know it’s – this is a huge favor, Buck, but I need to make rent. Please?”

Shit, Steve sounded like he might cry.

Alpha brain kicking into gear, Bucky said, “Of course I’ll take care of her. Here, write my number down and text me. I can give you the address. Is there anything I need to know?”

“Can you make sure she reads for thirty minutes and sign the log?”

“Got it. It’s gonna be fine, Steve. You’ve got this.”

On the other side, Steve let out a watery laugh. “If you say so.”

“I know so.”

When Bucky handed Sarah’s phone back to her, he said, “You’re gonna come back with me to my place tonight while your dad works. Is that okay with you?”

“What if I say it’s not okay?” she asked.

“Then I’ll call your dad right back and we’ll figure it out.”

Sarah chewed on her lip. “…Fine.”

“Are you allergic to cats? I have a cat.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “You do? What’s its name?”

“His name is Alpine,” Bucky answered. “He’s a bastard.”

Sarah giggled, like he knew she would, and tucked into her huckleberry fudge.

That night, Bucky showed her how he closed up the store. She helped by wiping down the tables and chairs, and by the time they locked the doors, Bucky was desperate to eat something substantial. Were he on his own, he probably would have microwaved a frozen burrito from the bulk bags he bought at Costco or heated up some ramen, but with a kid to consider, he knew he had to provide something legit to eat.

So he ordered takeout, naturally.

Sarah bounced into his apartment with the joy of somebody excited to explore somewhere new. She chased after Alpine the moment that she laid eyes on him, and Alpine booked it off of the cat tree to hide under Bucky’s bed in the other room.

His apartment wasn’t much, but it was clean, and it was his.

“What do you wanna eat? I’m gonna get Door Dash.”

“You’re not gonna cook?”

“I suck at cooking.”

“No you don’t! You do it all the time,” Sarah insisted.

Bucky huffed. “That’s baking, and it’s different. Baking is science. Cooking is art. How do you feel about Indian food?”

“Chicken tikka masala and naan,” was her response to that, so Bucky figured he was good to go.

Bucky turned on Netflix in the meantime, and let Sarah navigate. She gave him one of her most judgmental looks when he handed her the remote and asked, “Aren’t you going to make me read?”

“I think we can afford to take a night off. I’ll sign the reading log and your secret’s safe with me.”

They ate on the couch and watched She-Ra, which Bucky had never seen, so Sarah regaled him with all the stories before they even showed on screen, explaining that her favorite character was Mermista, and she couldn’t wait for Bucky to meet her.

Around nine o’clock, Sarah yawned.

“Do I have to sleep in my uniform?” she asked.

Bucky hesitated. “Uh,” he said. “I can give you a big shirt? I don’t have any jammies that’ll fit you, kiddo.”

Fortunately for the both of them, Bucky was a big enough dude and Sarah was a small enough kid that when he gave her his red henley, it hung on her like a nightgown, sleeves dragging far past her hands. Bucky set her up on the couch, plumping pillows and tucking a sheet around the cushions. By the time he’d rearranged the blankets for the third time, he realized he was _building a nest_ and startled.

Sarah hadn’t interrupted at all during his weird alpha brain glitch.

When he glanced at her, she hugged him, then pulled Bucky down to stick her nose in his neck.

Oh. A bubble burst in his heart.

It was love. He loved this kid and he loved Steve and he would do anything for either of them. The thought should have inspired panic, maybe, but instead what settled inside him was comfort. He wanted to keep Steve and Sarah in his life forever.

Bucky lowered his head and scented back. She smelled like sunlight, like kid, like _his _kid.

They let go after a long time. When Sarah climbed into the couch nest, she lamented, “I usually sleep with my unicorn.”

“I have a bear,” Bucky volunteered. “Usually I sleep with him, but you can borrow him, if you want.”

“You sleep with a bear? Aren’t you a grown-up?”

“Yeah, so?”

Sarah snuggled back into the pillows. “Okay. Give me the bear.”

Bucky retrieved Bucky Bear from his bedroom and passed him to Sarah. He’d had it since he was four or five. His mom called it Bucky Bear, and it stuck, and a little bear in a goofy blue outfit wearing a domino mask became his favorite thing that he owned. He never went to sleep without it, but he could part with it for a little while.

As Sarah settled in, Bucky’s heart kept beating funny. This kid trusted him enough to let Bucky build her a nest. She trusted him to feed her and to give her clothes to wear. Trusted him enough to sleep on his couch.

And hell, Steve trusted Bucky with Sarah.

An omega that had been through what Steve had been through trusting an alpha with his pup – shit, that was a lot. Bucky didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it, but he was unfathomably grateful. He wouldn’t trade that trust for anything in the world.

Alpine crept out of his bedroom. He padded to the couch, sniffing, and leapt into the nest, curling up on Sarah’s legs.

Steve knocked gently on the door at ten twenty-three. He was in his pencil pusher gear, though he’d rolled up the sleeves, and his hair stuck up out of place from running his hands through it too many times. At the sight of Bucky in his ratty Nirvana t-shirt and sweatpants, he swept forward and locked his arms around Bucky’s middle.

Surprised, Bucky hugged back. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky assured him. “She’s passed the fuck out. We ate takeout and watched She-Ra. C’mere.”

Bucky showed Steve to the living room, where Sarah clutched Bucky Bear to her chest, mouth open as she slept. Steve’s eyes traveled over what was unmistakably a meticulously arranged nest.

“You made her a nest?”

The stare that Steve fixed on Bucky bored down the bone.

“Uh,” Bucky managed. “Yeah? I’m sorry if I overstepped – I didn’t even realize I was doing at first –”

Steve closed his fist in the front of Bucky’s t-shirt, yanked him forward, and devoured him. He kissed hard and sweet all at once. Bucky made a noise and flailed for a second before he kissed back, but when he did, oh, it was everything he imagined it to be. He opened his mouth and Steve licked into it, certain enough for the both of them.

Bucky was so in love.

He spent months falling in love with Steve and his daughter, and he hadn’t even noticed, not until now, until he built the kid a nest and had his omega tucked in his arms, tasting him.

And Bucky, the idiot sap, blurted, “Steve, I love you.”

Steve’s eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “I know, Bucky,” he replied. “I’ve known that for a long time. I love you too.”

“Yeah?” Bucky breathed.

“Yeah,” Steve answered, and pulled him into another kiss. “Your bedroom’s that way, right?”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder. Heat rushed to his face, and Steve laughed a little. “Uh, yes, but, the kid?”

“She sleeps like the dead,” Steve promised. “We’ll lock the door.”

Bucky wasn’t surprised when Steve took charge, herding him back into the bedroom. It wasn’t much to look at – Bucky kept his space relatively clean. A stray sock was on the carpet, and he hadn’t made his bed that morning, but his collection of sci-fi and baking books were lined neatly on the shelf, organized in alphabetical order.

Steve pushed Bucky onto the bed, and Bucky went, scooting back to lie against the pillows.

“Stay there,” Steve said, a wobbling edge to his voice.

Bucky, with a profound blow to the heart, realized that Steve needed to be in control of this situation. He needed to know that he could trust Bucky, and so Bucky did as Steve asked, staying in place as Steve fumbled with the buttons on his blue shirt.

Bucky swallowed to wet his dry throat. Omega arousal billowed out into the room. As Steve undressed, Bucky’s cock began to fill, hardening against his thigh and tenting his sweatpants. His palms itched with the desire to push his sweats down and take himself in hand, but Steve didn’t tell him that he could move, so he lay still, flexing his hands in the covers.

Steve kicked the button-down aside. His chest was a marvel – he stood in the moonlight like the most beautiful kind of statue, torso ridged and nipples pebbled in the cool air. He had a couple of tattoos – one on his bicep, two daisies twined together. On his ribcage was a photorealistic daffodil.

With the clink of a belt, Steve shucked his slacks. In nothing but navy boxer briefs, he climbed up onto the bed. He edged forward and straddled Bucky’s legs, weight settling at the thigh.

Bucky crunched his toes in a desperate bid to be in charge of at least one part of his body. It only kind of helped.

“Can I,” – Bucky swallowed again, exhaled through his nostrils, and went on – “Can I touch?”

Steve blinked. “Yeah. Yes.”

Bucky reached out and skated his fingertips over the daffodil tattoo. He traced the lines of it, and Steve shivered, eyelids fluttering closed.

“It’s a survivor thing,” he said, without opening his eyes. “The tattoo. Sarah told you how she got here, didn’t she?”

“She did,” Bucky admitted.

“I was sixteen,” Steve told him. “People think I’m a bad victim or whatever because I like sex, but, um, I do – I need to be in charge. Please.”

“You already are, sweetheart,” Bucky whispered.

Steve opened his eyes. The corners of his lips turned up, and he shifted. He settled, this time, on Bucky’s lap. Bucky bit back a whimper at the rub of Steve’s body against his erection. He wanted to be closer. His blood beat through his body with the demand that he pull his omega under him, that he bury himself in that heat and that scent and take Steve until he knotted, but he sucked the insides of his cheeks in between his teeth and made himself wait for Steve’s move.

The palms of Steve’s hands were warm and dry when he dipped them beneath Bucky’s t-shirt. He pulled it over Bucky’s head. His touch roved over Bucky’s pecs and sides, and Bucky gasped. He was thicker than Steve, but he worked out – the weight of the prosthesis demanded that he keep in shape. He tried not to make too much noise when Steve thumbed over his nipples and scratched his nails against Bucky’s scalp.

The exploration made Bucky want to cry.

“I need you,” he told Steve.

“I know. You just have to wait a little.” He bent at the waist and drew Bucky into a long, filthy kiss.

When Steve pulled back, Bucky groaned. Steve hushed him and undressed Bucky the rest of the way. The crisp air tickled the hair on his legs, and he scrunched his toes again, waiting.

“Condom?” Steve asked.

Bucky flung his metal arm over his eyes and pointed the other at his bedside table.

In economical movement, Steve pulled open the drawer. He rifled around, tore off a condom and ripped open the packet, all business. He gripped Bucky’s erection at the base and Bucky threw his head back against the pillows. He would die here in this bed. He was sure. If Steve kept touching him with that feather-light grip, he’d go out of this world a desperate man.

A stuttering breath escaped Bucky’s lips when Steve rolled the condom down over his cock. The noise should have been quiet, but in the empty room, in between their too-hot bodies, it echoed.

Steve pecked three kisses to Bucky’s face: one to his forehead, one to his nose, and one to his lips.

Then, he hitched his leg up, closed his fingers around Bucky’s erection, and sunk down. The sound of omega slick squished, and Bucky clapped his hand over his mouth. He groaned against his hand and tried not to thrust up into the tight heat clenching around his cock. He wanted to yank Steve to him, wanted to claim him, instead, Bucky sunk his teeth into his own fist and waited for Steve to make the next move.

“You can touch me if you want,” Steve offered.

Bucky’s hands flew to accept the invitation. He bracketed Steve’s waist and squeezed, then shifted his palms up to play with the pecs he’d been admiring since the day that Steve walked into his store.

“You’re beautiful,” Bucky mumbled mindlessly. “So beautiful, Steve. Gorgeous.”

Then, Steve began to move. He rolled his hips low and slow, riding Bucky in a dirty, unhurried grind. Bucky held his noises in his throat and touched Steve everywhere that he could reach. When he asked for a kiss, Steve obliged, his rhythm unbroken as their lips met and tongues slid together.

“Fuck me,” Steve instructed. “I know you want to.”

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice. He braced his grip back on Steve’s hips and thrust up into him as hard as he could. Steve’s gasp filled the room like a sudden gust of wind, and his lips parted. Good. Yes Good. Bucky’s hindbrain reveled in the scent of his omega’s pleasure, in the pleased sounds that Steve, too, was trying his damnedest to muffle.

The hint of Bucky’s knot began to press at the inside of Steve.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered, “do you want me to knot, or –”

“Yes, fuck, please do that,” Steve said. “But, ugh. Hang on. Not like this.”

Steve pulled off of Bucky’s cock, and Bucky made a soft noise of complaint, but Steve paid him no mind. He shoved Bucky up and nestled down in the blankets. He canted his ass up and, “Oh fuck,” Bucky managed. Steve was presenting. A vulnerable position. A position of trust. His omega trusted him.

With a long, reverent look at Steve’s prone body, Bucky drew him closer. He parted Steve’s cheeks, braced his erection, and slid back into place inside him.

“As hard as you want,” Steve told him.

Bucky went at a steady pace. He buried his nose in Steve’s neck and scented with abandon, pressing kisses to this throat and scraping his teeth over the skin. When he realized what he was doing, however, he backed off. “Sorry,” he gasped. “That’s – presumptuous. You should bite me first.”

Steve moaned.

“Me – you?” he managed.

“Yeah,” said Bucky. “I want your bite. I love you and I want you and –”

Steve came with a broken cry. He thumped his fist against Bucky’s headboard and said, “I want that, Buck. I want that so much. C’mon. Knot me. Do it.”

Bucky rolled into Steve. His hips lost their beat the closer that he got, going haywire and chasing pleasure. His knot expanded, little by little, until pleasure careened into him, blinding him from the bones out.

He collapsed and plastered himself to Steve’s back, raining kisses over his shoulder blades and against his throat.

“Wow,” Bucky said, when his brain came back online.

“I’ll say,” drawled Steve. He wiggled a little, and Bucky shifted their bodies so they lay on their sides, curled together like quotation marks.

Steve murmured, “Bucky?”

“Mmhm.”

“Did you mean it? About biting you?”

“I sure as shit did, sweetheart,” he said. “On one condition.”

“Oh?”

“I want a punk jacket like you and Sarah.”

Steve let out an amused sound. “You’ve got a deal. When your knot goes down – can we do that? Biting?” Steve asked. “And you can bite me back. I want you to be mine. And I want to be yours. You’re my alpha. I think I knew it the moment that we met.”

So that was what they did. When Bucky went down enough to withdraw from Steve, they both groaned. Bucky stripped the condom off and tossed it into his trashcan. He nudged Steve up with his knee enough to pull the soiled comforter off the bed. He ignored the instinct to box Steve in with his limbs, and instead flopped onto his back.

“Ready to be bitten,” he announced.

Steve laughed. He edged up against Bucky. The flat of his tongue licked a wet stripe along the column of Bucky’s throat, and Bucky held his breath. Steve’s scent engulfed him completely when the teeth pierced his skin and made his mating bite. The rush of endorphins that exploded in Bucky’s brain made his limbs go loose and his smile silly.

“Your turn,” Steve said.

Bucky leaned in. He scented, taking in cinnamon and _good_ and _mate_ and _mine_. He drew the tip of his nose along Steve’s skin.

When he found a spot he liked, he bit.

Steve inhaled sharply.

They were mates.

Quietly, Bucky admitted, “I didn’t make her do the reading log.”

Steve snorted. “I kind of figured. It was worth a shot.”

**

In the morning, Bucky called his foster brother and begged him to open the shop.

“Fine, but you owe me big time, jackhole,” Clint grumbled on the other end.

“Love you too,” said Bucky, but Clint had already hung up.

Bucky had never been more grateful for the fact that his bathroom was attached to his bedroom. He and Steve could shower without panicking about the kid – and they took the time to kiss and scent and laugh, in the meantime.

Steve dressed in Bucky’s clothes, and they padded out to the living room. Sarah hadn’t woken yet, so they tread carefully in the kitchen. Bucky started the coffee, and Steve pawed in his fridge, gathering eggs and cheese to fry up on the stove.

Alpine thumped on the ground and darted into Bucky’s bedroom.

On the couch, Sarah sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Daddy?” she called.

“In here, pumpkin,” Steve said.

Sarah stumbled to them, her eyes squinting against the light. Pride rushed underneath Bucky’s ribcage at the sight of his omega and his daughter wearing his things. Maybe that was all alpha hindbrain doing its thing, but he loved the feeling. He wrapped that pride around him like a blanket.

“Hi Bucky,” Sarah said, and observed, “We’re still at your apartment.” She climbed into one of the kitchen chairs and rested her forehead on the tabletop.

“We didn’t want to wake you up,” Steve told her. He strolled out with an omelet and slid it in front of Sarah, who peeled her head off of the table with a thunderous look.

Sarah glowered up at them.

“What’s on your neck – oh,” Sarah made a face. “Fucking finally.”

“Sarah Eleanor!” Steve exclaimed.

“I’m just saying,” she said, and rolled her eyes. “Do I still have to go to school?”

“Yes,” Steve and Bucky said, in stereo.

Sarah groaned.

**Author's Note:**

> While I've had this idea on my mind for like...three years, this is a commission! If you're interested in one yourself, or you just want to watch a disaster human ramble about comics and her novel, you can contact/follow me @thepinupchemist on twitter. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also, shoutout to my stepsister, who, uh...actually said she went on a woman's journey to Nunya to her teacher, literally this week.


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